I’m sure Granny is brewing up another lecture, but right then, the front door bursts open because apparently, no one locked it after they came in. We all whip around to see who just barged into my house, and a collective sigh goes through the group. Elodie leaps to her feet.
“Mom. Dad. Grandma?” she gasps.
Yup, it’s indeed them. I whip around to Granny, who gives me a sheepish grin. And Granny never gets sheepish. “I might have accidentally texted the wrong person. Uh, Cinnamon, I mean. I…I got my numbers confused and brought up the wrong group.”
“So instead of texting all of us,” Ash asks, confused, “you texted Elodie’s grandma?”
“We’re in a book club together, okay?” Granny huffs.
“And here I thought you just had a club where grannies gather to hone their meddling skills,” I mutter under my breath. Granny shoots me a murderous look that makes me pucker up all the way to my asshole. Fucklestine, how does she do it?
Elodie’s parents march into the room. Her mom has on a sleek black dress and is wearing practically half the family jewels around her neck and on her ears, while her dad looks like he’s going to some formal dinner because he’s dressed in a three-piece suit. Cinnamon, Elodie’s grandma, is wearing, as per usual, haute couture. Today it’s a green dress with huge yellow and white flowers sewn all over it. She looks like a walking field of daises.
“Gah!” Leandra gapes at Cinnamon. “I love your dress! Oh my god! Where do you get your clothes? I have to know. I own a boutique…”
Right, so most of my family hasn’t met Elodie’s parents or her grandma.
“And I love your dress too!” Leandra says, motioning to Elodie’s mom.
“The jewelry,” Luna sighs. “So gorgeous! You have excellent taste.”
Elodie’s mom doesn’t let all the praise get to her head. She’s very composed, as per usual. Her dad looks a little bit red, but I’m not sure if it’s because he got dragged here or because he’s staring down at his daughter for the first time since he tried to force her into an arranged sort of marriage to a man who was about as lively as a pile of leaves. Or maybe a pile of crap? I don’t know which one has more life. Well, whichever one doesn’t, that’s the one Henry is. Or was. Because if I have it my way, he’s never going to be involved in Elodie’s life again.
“How did you enjoy this month’s book selection, Helen?” Cinnamon asks my granny.
“Oh, delightful, delightful. I skipped right to the racy parts. It really gets the blood flowing. When he tied her up and told her to…”?
“Granny!” I bellow. “I forbid you to talk about your book club’s racy parts in front of your grandchildren ever again.”
“Forbid me? Pah!” Granny cackles, and Cinnamon titters away.
I had no idea they were two-peas-in-a-pod like this. All these years, my granny has never said she was such good friends with Elodie’s grandmother. Why not, I wonder? I get the sinking feeling in my gut right away that tells me it was because I never cared enough to ask her. I’ve never really asked my granny much of anything. I’ve always tried to avoid the information she volunteers, but after all of us kids graduated, I guess we haven’t spent as much time with her as she would have liked. She was our hero growing up, but we’ve all just kind of gone our separate ways, getting involved with our own boring lives.
Cinnamon turns to glare at Elodie, who is about as colorless as a ghostly white sheet draped over a fun-loving kid on Halloween. “It’s going to take me at least two months to grow my leg hair back after your wedding debacle, young lady!”
“Ughghghghghhg,” Kirian shudders.
I swear Lindy and Ellis have their hands clamped over their mouths so tightly to hold giggles in because they’re at risk of exploding.
“That’s kind of hot,” Leandra says reverently. I think she still means the dress. God, I hope so.
“If by hot, you mean the stuff of nightmares, then yes,” Toren whisper-yells.
“I knew I shouldn’t have had the spicy bean burrito with extra spice and beans for lunch,” Ash grunts. “It’s churning strangely now. Or maybe that’s all the talk of six-inch leg hair.”
“My record is more like four,” Cinnamon states proudly. “Now, you little goober foober, you’re coming home with your parents. They’ve been worried sick. And you’re going to call Henry and apologize. Maybe then this whole thing can be smoothed over.”
“I’d rather eat razor blades,” Elodie croaks.
“Well, get your intestines prepared then,” Cinnamon snaps back. “Because real life ain’t no book club. It’s not about spicy, raunchy, and racy scenes, getting tied up and whipped, and…oh, never mind. The point is, Henry is the one for you, and you’re going to marry him if he’ll ever forgive you for getting all jittery and ditching him.”